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Songs from the Journey 



Songs from the 
yourney 



By 

WILTON AGNEW BARRETT 




NEW ^"^S^ YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



COPYRIGHT, 1920, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



MAf; ^/ ,y2U 



l^"^^/ 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



©Cf.A56630S 



..^ S. k 



C9 



Foreword 

Many friends have given these poems loyal thought and 
given me steadfast encouragement in the hope that they 
would some day go into a book and be read by a few 
others. I find it difficult now to prefer one name before 
another in a dedication. The names of all these friends 
are in my mind now that the poems are together. I can 
but desire that each friend shall perceive a share in bring- 
ing them to publication and feel a part of whatever of 
worth and beauty they possess. 

Some of the poems appeared in Poetry: a Magazine of 
Verse, The Forum, Contemporary Verse, The Boston 
Transcript, Victory, Mr. William Stanley Braithewaite's 
anthology of peace poems, and McCall's Magazine. I wish 
to thank the editors of ' hese publications for the courtesy 
by which I am enabled to reprint them. 

W. A. B. 



[V] 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Man 11 

Songs from the Journey 13 

A New England Church g . 24 

To a Pair of Scarlet Tanagers in the Square . ^ 26 

The Eternal Shropshire Lad 27 

The Scaler of Height 28 

A Dead Poet 29 

Semiramis 30 

Sankaty Light 43 

In the Sunlight 47 

By a Stretch of Sand 48 

Indian Lady 51 

The Bird 52 

Soldiers, Behold Your Beauty 56 

Of the Earth 62 

A Dead Man 64 

The Valley and the Shadow 65 

That Night I Danced . 68 

The Dwellers 69 

The House 70 

Possession 71 

Adam 72 

This Vivid Night 74 

Her Beauty 75 

[vii] 



Contents 

PAGE 

The Tent 76 

On Magic 78 

The Vase 79 

The Tree 82 

The Holiday 84 

A Song of Fulfillment • s 92 



[viii] 



Songs from the Journey 



THE MAN 

I have come over bridges of steel 

Over ways where I saw great ships 

And a mighty city afar; 

I have come over rails where I saw 

The meadows of July 

With myriads of rooted things 

Flashing each a shining eye; 

And I saw the sky. 

Now I come to you, child, 

Here by the town where the train moves slow, 

And you stare from the wayside grass, 

You, in the dark-haired woman's arms, 

Held up in the bosom-tall grass 

That your wide, wide eyes may see 

The iron servant pass. . . 

[H] 



The Man 

And do you read by my face 
You have wakened me from my dream 
Of the strength of bridges and rails, 
The hugeness of cities and ships, 
The wide existence of fields — 
Do you give me a glance 
Grown sudden majestic, O child, 
As the heavy trucks clang by? 

There on the woman's breast. 
You, held up out of the grass. 
Are the mightiest thing I have seen! 



[12] 



SONGS FROM THE JOURNEY 
I 

The Adventurer 

1 

What is he struggling to say, 

With his red, wrinkled face 

And clawing hands? ♦ 

He has just come out of the darkness, 

Its silence is still upon him. 

And already he wants to talk about life! 

Hush!— 

Perhaps he has some great secret of birth and death, 

Learned back there in the black womb. 

Which he feels life stealing; 

And he wants to tell it to us 

And cannot. 

He is more terrible than funny. 

[13] 



Songs from the Journey 

Gallop, gallop on my knee — 
What a tireless rider! 

I didn't think of your doing this 
When, in the stillness of night, 
We set you stirring. 

Now I suppose you must keep on! 

If you follow your daddy 

You will have a merry and sad time, 

Riding a cock-horse 

To Banbury Cross. 

S 

Arise, child, in the morning! 

Go down upon the shining beach, 

Find the glinting shells 

And the white drops of moonstone. 

Gather and toss them away. 
Leaping. 

Under the towering sky 

Be wild as you are white ! 

Your limbs are light and can dance. 

[14] 



Songs from the Journey 

Do you know how far they can dance? 
Dance, child, and see. 

n 

So to the pool 

Where weary leaves come down. 

And bend for long 
Over the wise water, 
See the image of your face 
And say: 

"Who are you, stranger. 
Where do you come from. 
Whither do you go?" 
And hear the old leaves fall 
In long flights 
On gray air. 

Ill 

What are you doing, man. 
Digging in that dusty patcK, 
Your bundle beside you? 
You must have come far. 



[15] 



Songs from the Journey 

Wait and rest. 

There is an old fellow wiser than you 

Around here every day. 

He can make the dirt fly, 

And the hole he hollows 

Is big enough for you to stretch out in 

And put your head on whatever pillow 

Of poppy leaves or faded roses 

You have there! 

IV 
I am sleeping now, 
And, God, it isn't as bad 
As I thought it might be, 
Walking here all the way 
With my bones aching more and more. 

I am sleeping now, 

But^ somehow I seem to be growing stronger- 
There is such a weight off my bones 
While my blood runs to a million tendrils ! 

It isn't as dark as I expected it to be. 
And it isn't as silent. 



[16] 



Songs from the Journey 

Shall I wake up? 
Am\ sleeping now? 

V 

To THE Lovers 
So you two, 
Coming this far, 
Feel you must house together 
Under the blossom. 
You swear you cannot go further 
Without each other. 

Boy, take her hand. 
Girl, take his. 
Spring is in the world 
And castles rise like grass. 

You will find yours. 
Going down this way. 

How many stones do I think it will be built of? 

Count them when it falls 

And you have to carry the largest on your backs. 



Songs from the Journey 

VI 

The Lovers 
After the journey, 
Let us rest together 
And hold the image of love between us 
Where we can see it. 

To me it has the face of a tired man, 
You say it looks like a weary woman. 

Take heart. 

In the dying firelight 

It is a noble piece of work. 

We shall never know quite all that it means. 

VII 

A Woman Sings 
I will sit by your cradle. 
When you laugh — 
Flowers blow in my heart, 
Little birds twinkle on their stems. 
In your tears 
Are the rainbows I lost. 



[18] 



Songs from the Journey 

VIII 

A Ghost Weeps 
Listen! It is I. 

They've just laid me here in the same plot, 
Close beside you. 
The board and the earth are thin between us. 

Aren't you glad! 

You were with me so long up there, 
You fought so hard not to part from me 
In the end. 

You were always wanting me. 
I never went from your sight 
But you were fierce and longing 
To have me back, 
I never stirred on the doorstep 
But you heard me. 

I'm here now, 
I've come back. 
Listen ! 
It is I— 

[19] 



Songs from the Journey 
You canH hear me. 
Mother, Mother! 

IX 

WiSEMEN 
1 

Stop, singer coming down the road — ^ 

Your eyes are red, 

You have been beaten, 

And there are hollows between your ribs. 

Why do you sing? 

"There is sorrow, 
There is hate. 
There is hunger. 
There is laughter. 
There is love. 
There is food. 
Master, there is joy 
As well as pain. 
I can but wonder — 
So I sing." 

[20] 



Songs from the Journey 



Go by, mad tatters, 
At the end of the road 
You will but understand 
And be silent. 



'No. I will sing." 



2 



Which way.? 

"There lies the road, 
The night is clear. 
It is easy walking." 

But you have come through that wood. 

It is dark and dense and hard to travel in there, 

You might have lost your way. 

And there was the road 

Running right along-side for you, 

Where all the stars are out. 

"You must come out of a wood 

To see a star just right. 

Why did I not stick to the op.n road.? 

I am looking for stars !" 



[21] 



Songs from the Journey 

X 

An Awakening 

Sleepy head, sleepy head! 

I believe the drowsy roses 

We have trampled so many nights 

Have got into your brain. 

Do you pretend to sleep still 

Under the thinning scarf of kisses, 

And dream there is dawn and song and blossom 

For the awakening 

Of old lovers? 

Let me tell you, 

A formal sheet covers us now — 

And it is time of day we changed it 

For our proper working-clothes. 

Lie quiet — listen! 

All night I have heen hearing it. 

There is a gate hnoching, 

A gate that taps against the latch, 

[22] 



Songs from the Journey 

A little wind has lifted in the garden^ 
Blowing the roses. 
The gate keeps tapping. 

Here is new enchantment — 
What does it say? 

It is begun. 

In the dark, in the darJc_. 

There is a light lit on the desert., 

There is a stir in the tent. 

Goods are packed for the journey/. 

In the dark, the dark, 

A caravan is moving. 

The sa/nd is broken — 

A Man is starting for birth. 



[23] 



A NEW ENGLAND CHURCH 

The white church on the hill 

Looks over the little bay — 
A beautiful thing on the hill 

When the mist is gray; 
When the hill looks old, and the air turns cold 

With the dying day. 

The white church on the hill — 

A Greek in a Puritan town — 
Was built on the brow of the hill 

For John Wesley's God's renown, 
And a Conscience old set a steeple cold 

On its Grecian crown. 

In a storm of faith on the hill 

Hands raised it over the bay; 
When the night is clear on the hill 

It stands up strong and gray; 
But its door is old, and the tower points cold 

To the Milky Way. 



[24] 



A New England Church 

The white church on the hill 

Looks lonely over the town, 
Dim to them under the hill 

Is its God's renown, 
And its Bible old, and its creed grown cold, 

And the letters brown. 



[25] 



TO A PAIR OF SCARLET TANAGERS 
IN THE SQUARE 

Two spirits in the city square — 

Fire-breasted for our eyes! 

Who flung you, flecks of Eden hue. 

To paint us Paradise, 

To make a little Eden patch 

Here with your scarlet dapple, 

Where toiling Adam stays to watch, 

Tired Eve forgets the apple! 



[26] 



THE ETERNAL SHROPSHIRE LAD 

By level fields so deep and long 
I used to go and sing my song, 
Before the time came on that I 
Had stonier ways beneath the sky. 

And now I stumble on each day, 
Caring to earn and spend my pay. 
In narrow streets so long and bare 
I often wonder why I care. 



rni 



THE SCALER OF HEIGHT 

Francis Thompson 

He that wrings song from his pain. 

Comes with a splendor of gifts ; 
And he that puts love in the strain, 

The children of love uplifts. 

Marvel we now at the flight 

Of your words; you have spoken, are dumb- 
Child-lover and scaler of height, 

Cast down in the London slum. 

Bitter your travail, long — 

Found you Heaven's nursery bars.? 

You flung such a ladder of song 

That our children may climb to the stars! 



[28] 



A DEAD POET 

He was song's promise once. Now he is gone. 
A little while since and his name was bright, 
His fortune high. His voice was in the dawn 
Of singers rising. Now he has the night. 
Around him thej of lustier pulse arose, 
Bolder to speak the day, the word. We said, 
Watching his magic fade, his splendor close, 
"The poet dies before the man is dead." 

And now the man is dead, the poet lives. 
O at his passing many a lovely name! 
Beauty to each immortally he gives. 
And the immortals render back their fame. 
His song is snared within Francesca's hair, 
Marpessa takes his memory to her care. 



[291 



SEMIRAMIS 

To S. M. 

1 

You who have often watched with me the City 

(How often have we wondered at her lamped beauty— 

Oftenest, walking at evening in the crowds, 

Questioning white Manhattan of the lights!) — 

You who have talked with me about the marvel, 

And seen with me the struggle of the streets, 

And with me probed for the imperial essence beneath 

the pain and magnificence — 
Now, when the lights are again beginning to shine and 

the throng turns regal with some barbaric turmoil. 
Do you not see it is she, the Queen, the Sovereign? 

This is Semiramis of Babylon, 

Almost a fabulous dream and unrecorded rightly, 
Terrible with the dark about her lingering, 
And beautiful. 

Lambent-eyed, cloudy-foreheaded, 
[30] 



Semiramis 

Stretching lasciviously her white-enameled limbs along 

her builded divan, 
Receiving and holding and ever betraying the love 

of her lovers, 
Knowing poets and kings and warriors, 
Knowing redemptioners. 
Knowing merchants and murderers and lusters and 

thieves, 
Subduing them all with her look and the sight of her 

marble bosom, 
Feeding, dreaming, plotting, somnolent with enormous 

ambitions, it seems, forever. 

How she regards her possessions ! 

Do you not see her — 

Where, with a woman's softness, her jeweled flesh leans 
on the evening air — 

See her reclining among her pillared torches, watching 
with cruel, aspiring eyes the work she has por- 
tioned among her victims. 

While she sings into the evening, there in her violet 
tent, 



[81] 



S emir amis 

And ever along the streets the cymbal-clash of the 
gongs ? 

/ am the lover, the gods' beloved, and the Queen, 
The hand with the torch, the flame of many a kiss. 
Between my lips is mystery, and I lean on the neck 

of my lover 
And he is crushed with my tenderness. 
Therefore love me, all you who gaze on my breasts 

or who hide your eyes. 
Babylon must be builded, 
Babylon must be builded. 
And thereafter many a dream. 
I am the City. 

I am the task-giver, the glittering owner of slaves, 
I am the beautiful woman, the radiant arm with the 

whip, 
I see the spire and I drag you up with my eyes, and the 

yawning tube wherein I bid you burrow. 
I lash you because you have kept me high and raised 

me a throne from the sea whence I came a maid. 



[32] 



S emir amis 

Therefore labor, all you who behold or behold not my 

whip, 
Babylon must be builded, 
Babylon must be builded. 
And thereafter many a dream. 
For I am the City, 

I am the seer, I am the brain with the light set far 

bach in its windows; yet I cannot tell what I 

see — 
/ am in doubt; 

Only the deserts are there, shining and calling. 
Therein the ramparts I must raise, the high pavilions 

carved for the noon^s rest and the nighfs. 
And beyond and beyond the army I must attach. 
And perchance after that my death, or an empire new, 

or both. 
Therefore harness the cars with the sicJcle spohes and 

array the ranks of my monsters, you who make 

me General blindly, or seeing, and put the sword 

in my hand. 
Babylon must be builded. 



[33] 



Semiramis 

Babylon must he builded. 

And thereafter many a dream, 

I am the City. 

% 

This is Semiramis with the night coming down about 
her place. 

Under her violet tent the torches flare, her gaze is re- 
flected afar across waters to dazzle the eyes of 
simple sailormen, and they too love her. 

O beauty of the City! is it a wonder that the people 
come now into her streets? 

Is it a marvel that the purple-robed and the ragged 
go thronging elbow to elbow? 

Is it a mystery that wrongs are done in this passion- 
ate hour of love and hate for her? 

For the lights are on the walls ! 

And there is something shining about every silly 
palace ! 

We are tired with our building! the people cry — 

We will make our weariness radiant! 

The tyranny of the Queen becomes a singing on their 
lips in eyery street. 



[84] 



S emir amis 

Who would walk in her streets shall come to know her 

name : 
Streets of the thousand peoples marching in the reign 

of Semiramis ! 
O streets hidden and streets glorious, 
Sealed streets of shame and streets open and glittering, 
Streets of carnival and laughter, 
Streets of pain, 
Wonderful streets splendidly tangled over the breasts 

of Semiramis — 
Like a sparkling web are you woven over her body ! 
O web she weaves like a subtle and mammoth spider. 
Catching the wings of men, prisoning their steps. 
You the streets of many a night-long riot, of many a 

journey laden. 
How you stick at our feet. 
How you hold us doubting. 
How you entangle us and our dreams, 
How you outwit us, and weary us, and trap us, 
How you bid us cease our struggles and listen. 
You are full of music, streets. 
Winding over her heart, you are full of music. 



[35] 



s 



emiramis 



In the night we can hear you, when the Queen seems 

slumberous — 
Such music awaking thought and the still vision ! 
Every one of you is a vista, when you make music. 
Who walks over you, that you tremble? 
The miraculous feet of women, the miraculous feet of 

men. 
The mothers, the lovers, the everlasting builders of the 

City- 
Solitary spirits of the night walking toward the day — 
Lonely singers of mysteries, of divinations, of icono- 

clasms that are yet the ground-breakers for 

towers — 
Ay, the tryst-girl, the drunken wanderer, the hungry 

mother and her babe. 
They are the singers — 
The gamut, from the prostitute's solicitation to the 

babe's cry. 

This is Semiramis, who never sleeps. 
Who dreams, who plans the night-long, 
Quiet, with cold great lids upon her eyes, 



[36] 



Semiramis 

With cold, great hands across her heart, 

Silencing with contemplation most immense our cries, 

our footsteps, 
Listening, gathering desires for the day. 
If she is cruel, forgive her. 

If she is licentious, if she is lovely, if she is vainglorious, 
Forgive her — 
For now in the piled night she seems to have a wisdom 

that is eternal! 

Babylon must he builded, 
Babylon must he builded. 
And thereafter many a dream, 
I am the City. 

O City, whose sovereignty we have created; 

City, whose spirit we are; 

City, to whom we kneel, kneeling to ourselves ; 

And whom we follow, following our own desires ; 

Who are no more glorious than we are glorious. 

And no more ignominious, no more merciful, and no 

more cruel; 
City of Ourselves- — 



[37] 



Semiramis 

Show us your dream of building, that we may know 

what we are building, 
Show us the land you hunger for, that we may know 

what we hunger for, 
Show us the way you go, it is the journey of our feet; 
Only when you have made us weary shall you be spent, 
Another queen — our own clear-seeing souls! — ^be set 

to sway you. 

3 

The dawn is coming, watcher — 

It is the light, the veil, hung before the great adven- 
ture, 

It is misting your face and mine. 

O dreams of beautiful and mighty women we have 
dreamed together — 

Let us remember them, 

While we watch the rising of the City. 

Wonderful in the morning. 

With forecasting eyes under pale, lifting eyelids, 

With the torches of her couch aU dim. 

And her flowing tent all quiet with whitening air! 



[38] 



S emir amis 

Now her people awake, 

Awake and come forth before the eyes of Semiramis — 

Decadent eyes imperial 

That command their song! 

We are made aware of you, who waJce beneath your 

gaze. 
We have heard you, Beloved, and gone building 

again! 
The morning is upon us and our sleep is over. 
With the might of morning we have gone building 

again. 

We are swinging up great stones and lifting heavy 

hearts. 
As of old we are ascending pinnacles and pitching 

down abysses. 
In the face of anguish we are talcing our perilous 

pleasure — 
We will build across the desert at the will of our 

Queen! 

You have conquered us, already we have raised the 
City coronalled. 



[39] 



Semiramis 

Bright-facetted with towers and spires! 

Where the band of shining waters loops it in like a 
jewel. 

Where the deep, mirage-liJce waters wind around it 
like a moat! 

You have conquered us, and now we will raise you 
canopies 

Along the march illimitable. 

Raise you ramparts afar on the front of strange 
lands — 

But when we stand again in Babylon we shall con- 
quer you. 

In that time, in that time, we shall see you clearly — 

Not as you appear, but as you were meant to be — 

Again you shall become as a child, as a babe. 

Foam white of inspiration and desire! 

We shall understand you then — 

We shall have gone forth building through the moons 

of deserts, 
Shall have seen splendors rise, shall have seen glories 

fall, 

[40] 



Setniramis 

Shall have hied, shall have wept, to the after-music 

listened. 
Returning you to Babylon under moons that pale; 
Queen, in that time we shall -find you a little past 

years' delusion — 
We shall return to Babylon, find to build a greater 

City, 

To the hazard of your eyes we now turn our faces. 
We will waste no more in little days, little hopes, 

believe in death no more! 
We will follow you with fervor, with praise, to 

battle-grief! 
You have conquered us, but we are crowned with all 

your splendor. 
In the ascendant morning the light is on our heads. 

We are taking up the engines and shouldering the 

gear. 
We are girding the monsters and setting the blades 

to the wheels of the chariots. 
Into the broadening day we are preparing to follow 

the Queen^ 



[41] 



Seiniramis 

The march is clearing before us, the path of build- 
ing and combat — 

But we shall return to Babylon and build a greater 
City! 

O great Sun coming up, 
Slowly you touch the waters of her girdle, 
Shaking your dancing fires around its crystal. 
Gathering them in from the sea to strike her body — 
Now they light her form and her great lovely arms up- 
lifting. 
O Sun ascending, 
This is Semiramis of Babylon, 
And her eyes flash like a phalanx of shields ! 



[42] 



SANKATY LIGHT 

The rose-sweet way to go, to go, 

To pick the buds of truth, 
The wild-rose way to go, to go, 

To find my wild-rose youth I 

Here where the shaggy flank of bluff 

Inclines with mighty grace to the high Light — 

A little diamond faint, pale yellow yet, on the dusk's 
green sky; 

And where the moors, to me ascending, 

Lie leftward like fog billowy and brown ; 

And to the right 

The scarf of evening sea flows, far down, along the 
grassy beach; 

And the path sunders the wild moor herbage. 

And the fireflies like fitful stars burn and set continu- 
ously in the grass-points. 

And the wind comes warm and thick with mazy gnats, 

And the quiet of the sea brims up, 

And the shadows of the land lean down, 

[43J 



Sankaty Light 

And the wild wild-roses blow — 

I walk, I only, in the heart-time of the summer. 

And I think I should be happy. 

Whose feet are among the roses. . . 

Only to drink in this last of day with a natural, uncon- 
scious breath ! 

To let it come to me as the silent bird lets the night 
come to it — 

As the quiet flower lets the dew come to it — 

As the child lets joy come to it — with simple rapture ! 

But there is no singing in my breast, dearest, lowliest 
ones, 

Though I laid my mouth to you, there would be no 
singing. 

How shall I find the truth again, little earth-wild faces ? 

Or find the song? 

Orfind the child? 

Where the immortal vision long effaced? 

Heart that grows cold. . . hands that cannot 
gamer. . . 



[44] 



Sankaty Light 

If I might touch a flower 

It would warm in the dusk mj hand. 

As would a comrade's, timid and brave ; 

It would breathe its dappled fire into my heart ! 

O little wild dwellers, you are not for me ; 
O Light on the bluff, you are not for me ; 

calm coming night, pale fading sun, you are not for 

me; 
To-night none of you are for me — 

1 go, and in my hand is no bouquet. 

Yet on my thread of years I string this walk, 

remembering — 
Remembering to-night's pale sunset over cliffs of roses, 
Remembering the far, high, kindling Light upon the 

sea-bluff, 
Rememberiiig the pilgrimage, the longing, the lost 

way; 
Knowing that loss is but a thing of time, 
Knowing that pain is circled by all beauty, 
That pilgrimage can never reach its goal ; 
Knowing I may look back upon this walk 



[45] 



Sankaty Light 

And reap in spirit the wild-roses here. 
And reap the truth of the forgotten things, 
And feel a tender laughter for this hour, 
Since happiness is known by memory. 



[461 



IN THE SUNLIGHT 

By cemetery meadows in plains beyond the City, 

In the crystal of cold morning, rushing toward the 

open country, 
I beheld from my train-window 
The monuments so rigid in the sunlight. 
And beside the shafts the little pines and balsams — 
The little lush trees evergreen, like soldiers, in the 

snow. 
Waiting there for Gabriel's horn or the grass to grow ! 



rm 



BY A STRETCH OF SAND 

1 

A child playing — 

Upon the morning sea-beach piling little molds of 

cold, bright, dripping sand — ^ 
Imagined ramparts, ships, and wharves. 
(Child, playing child!) 

A child wandering down the glittering beach, 
Finding precious playthings among the brown blown 

weed — 
Curious spools that sailormen unwound afar upon the 

sea, to be his spinning toys, 
And choice small sticks for spars for tiny craft — 
Faery rubbish, enchanted refuse, all! gathered in the 

light of dreams ! 
A child playing and fashioning — 
Gazing into the summer light with still most-happy 

eyes. 
(Child with dawn in his hair, 



[48] 



/ 
By a Stretch of Sand 

Child with God in his eyes, 

Imagining child!) 

The player — - 

Oblivious to the rumors of the sea, 

Unstudious of his delighted heart, 

Only intent on the wonders of his playing, 

Between his wide, wide eyes and the looming world 

A starfish or a moonstone or a dream, 

And the sands falling from his little hand 

A thread of amber, hiding the approaching years — ' 

So blind. 

(O little mage! blind, blind!) 

A man toiling — 

Raising thoughts by the sea on the reaches of his 

mind. 
There by the sea in the ways of his boyhood, 
Wandering the old ways in an evening of autumn. 
(Man, toiling man!) 
A man toiling and wandering — 
Gathering the sea-mist and surge to his very soul, for 

the making of symbols, 



[49] 



By a Stretch of Sand 

Gathering the wave-music into his heart, to be the 

speech of some incantation — 
Not faery stuff or element those flying shadows and 

reiterating sounds, 
That gray spray drifting and that sea-urge! 
(0 man with night and sea whispering strange words 

about his head, 
With baffled God in his eyes, 
Man — still imagining!) 

The toiler— 

The striver after discernment, 

Tearing at the shadows over his eyes. 

Hearing the while the voice of the intrusive sea, 

Paying heed the while 

To his paining heart, his paining heart, 

Undelighted, soul-intent 

To see that child's far day ; 

But blind. 

(O mortal toiler, blind!) 

Between the man and child 

The insoluble, huge world. 

Impenetrable, obliterating years, 

Enshrouding tears. 

[501 



INDIAN LADY 

There is a hill called Indian Lady 

Reached by a road and forest path. 

I never go to Indian Lady — 

The sights I would see would stand like wrath. 

You come by a hollow to Indian Lady — 
We went there once through the ochre wood. 
Out of the trees rises Indian Lady 
With the scaffold tower where we climbed and 
stood. 

And that is where you grew so frightened 
And called out fear you could not hide — 
Up there in the wind on Indian Lady — 
What evil prophet in you cried? 

The trees in autumn at Indian Lady 
Would be all a-snarl, the hollow and wood 
Would be a stilliness full of fallings, 
And not a leaf would be green and good. 

[51] 



THE BIRD 

On the wild frontier of song, 

Shrill I heard the bugles blow. 

And I heard torrential drums. 

And a voice came crying low 

Like the sorrow of a throng 

That was mad with doom and wrong ; 

It was rolling with a woe. 

Like the torrent of the drums. 

Then I lifted up my face 

To the fear in the skies, 

I lifted up my eyes. 

Far above the drums a shout 

Babel voices babbled out — 

"God, come with us on the land! 

God, come with us on the seas !" 

Then I saw The Thing lean out 

And Its face was great with doubt. 

But across the even lands 

Swung the multitudinous bands 



[52] 



The Bird 

That the whole horizon threw 
Circle-wise around my view. 
Far-surrounding all the mass 
Of those closing armies, curled 
Wide around as eye might pass. 
Stood another, whiter mass — 
All the women of the world. 

And that crying rose again 
Of a people in distress, 
Shot across with thankfulness 
Of a strange and bitter kind, 
For the coming of desire 
And the naked will to kill, 
Man to brother man in ire. 
Flame from ash of brother-fire! 

How my heart grew angry then 
For the blessed lives of Men. 
Not an empire tjiat might fall. 
Not a kingdom that might rise. 
Would be worth the lost dominion 



[53] 



The Bird 

Of a single dead man's eyes. 
Not a tower or relic tall, 
Built or sent to earth, repay 
For the heart of one dead woman 
With the bright love gone away. 

Came a circleting of thunder — 
Eyes ! what terror and what wonder. 
Shining, terrible, undaunted. 
Like long machines enchanted. 
Links of flesh, the armies came. 
Trampling old frontiers they came, 
Meeting, into vengeance broke, 
Melted into dreadful flame, 
Burnt and passed in awful smoke. 
Came again and screamed and died. 
And a wind opened wide 
Like a chasm in a tide. 
Heaven's depth showed a space 
And The Thing looked out, down-bowed, 
And the wind twitched a cloud 
Like a hand across Its face. 



[54] 



The Bird 

More I saw not that was sinned 
Underneath that rifting wind. 
For I lay in darkness long 
On the dark frontier of song. 
Overhead there spoke a bird, 
In the sky there came a light — ■ 
Then I looked and I heard 
What was sung from the night. 
"Peace!" sang the bird 
With a little voice of might, 
"Peace !" sang the bird 
On that bough of delight. 
"Peace! — now all the land is spread 
For the feet of Men to tread 
Freely as my kind takes wing 
Or a cloud goes in the spring 
When it draws the heart along ; 
Now there are no outer spaces 
Poets used to call their places, 
All the world is cleared for song!'* 
But I only have the word 
Of a fair, envisioned bird. 



[56] 



SOLDIERS, BEHOLD YOUR BEAUTY 

Blow, bugles, blow, 

Set the wild echoes calling — 

The stars and their troubles are falling, falling, falling ! 

Soldiers, behold your beauty. 

Roll, drums, roll. 

Fill the hills and hollows with thunder — 
The red stars have gone out, with their wonder, won- 
der, wonder! 
Soldiers, behold your beauty. 
With your bayonets aslant as you marched 
Were you like a moving ocean in the sun? 
With your bayonets fixed when you charged 
Were you like the pointed rain-lights of a storm? 
Beauty ringed you all about. 
Wheeling her terrible rout. 
Terrible Beauty with her hair 
One great red flare 



[56] 



Soldiers, Behold Your Beauty 

Burning toward the heart of truth 
With the glory of your youth? 

Blow the bugle and roll the drum. 
Soldiers, behold your beauty. 

There was the voice of the world calling to you, 
The voice of the world that was heaping the battle red : 
The guns at dawn are shattering frost and dew. 
The guns at night are plowing and sowing the dead. 
Each man a seed for a spring to come. 
Blow the bugle and roll the drum 
Each seed for a flower of truth. 
Through the furrows stride and come. 
Lie in a furrow and he dumb. 
The world is sowing youth! 

There was the shell-fire high against the sky, 

The thousand-fingered shrapnel hands 

Feeling for flesh and the warm flowers of blood. 

The little bullet hole like a red bud 

Upon the dusty forehead or the breast, 

The bayonet rent the vermin, and the stench, 



[57] 



Soldiers^ Behold Your Beauty 

The steel and gas-mown trench. 

There was the mighty going out of breath. . , 

Where your dead lay in still and level ranks 
Were they like an ocean sleeping in the sun? 
Beauty glimmered in the dews of death 
Like the sheen on windows after storm? 
Beauty stood all shaken there 
Draping down her hair, 
Terrible Beauty in her truth 
Gazing with her burned-out eyes 
On the glory of your youth? 

Let not one corpse lie in the windless earth 

And not foretell to you a windy birth 

From out that death-impregnated black womb 

That is your beauty's tomb — 

Birth of a spirit that shall cry, For what. 

For what, great God of battles, what — 

But to show man a heauty that must rot! 

Blow, bugles, it had to be. 

While the blood was going down to the sea. 

It is over, and man must climb 

[58] 



Soldiers, Behold Your Beauty 

Painfully back through the years, out of the slime, 

He must climb 

Till he comes to the place where he found the star 

And does not follow again the star 

But the truth in men as they are. 

It was not in his dream, it was not in his dream — 

Beauty so red was not in his dream, 

But beauty so red was lying in wait 

By his nature's gate 

That swings wider than his heart 

To let his lightnings dart — 

Show it to him, you beautiful ranks, 

With your blood-red art! 

Soldiers, behold your beauty. 

Behold your beauty, what it is — 

You who have looked on death by its tossing torch — 

Neither the sweet in woman's kiss. 

Neither the scorch. 

Nor hope nor glory nor anything 

That held a touch of starriness will be. 

Not even comfort as we've thought of it. 



[59] 



Soldiers, Behold Your Beauty 

The thing it was, when you have learned. 
Answer your bugles, go and see, 
At the finish, enough if your travail has earned 
The power to love life utterly. 

Blow, bugles, blow. 

Over the taken wall and away, beyond — 

Blow, bugles, blow, 

Run on, you beautiful troops, 

Till your fierce spirit droops 

In what vast realm of even plain 

And singing birds and waters and spring rain 

And unbefrenzied laughter and natural pain 

Such as the children of a new earth need — 

Falter not, you who bleed. 

Out of the trench they will come and speak the truth, 
The earth that was turned to mire they will then 

appraise. 
Name the beast that murdered glorious youth 
And chain his tired limbs to their wheel of days. 

They will fling the wreath from the bloody head of 
man. 



[60] 



Soldiers, Behold Your Beauty 

And strip his form and behold his little girth, 
Go back to the earth from which all things began, 
Forget the stars and fix their eyes on the earth. 

Spring shall come and the trees grow full of leaf, 
Man shall lie with woman and she increase, 
Autumn shall come and the term of life be brief. 
But man will mark that the leaves lie down in peace. 



[61] 



OF THE EARTH 

Poor earth-bound mortals we 

Who hold a clod in fee, 

And turn it hither and thence 

And lie in its defense. 

And say, Someday it will fly 

Like a bird or a butterfly. 

We dream of reaching the stars, 

We dream of high emprise. 

Far domes and scimitars. 

And heroes that fight and rise. 

But instead of battles and gods 

We have only wars and men — 

Oh yes, we are only sods 

That are laid on the earth again. 

But the grasses at least are green, 

We cry, and wear a sheen ! 

Stand in the autumn day. 

The rain will show the clay. 



[62] 



Of the Earth 

There may be wings in the air 
Where the gods go streaming their hair- 
Poor earth-bound mortals, we 
Forego their destiny. 
We end in a chair in a room, 
We end with a lamp and book, 
Reading lies in the gloom, 
Of the freedom other men took. 



[63] 



A DEAD MAN 

He will not see the tender spring again 

Rise from the earth with strange, perennial grace, 

He will not see again the May-night's face 

Speak of eternal things to transient men, 

He will not stir, with deep upliftings, when 

June laughs for freedom from our time and place — 

No, though her winds all day blow out of space, 

He will not quicken in his body then. 

And be his spirit timeless like a star — 
A burning life fate can no more remand — 
And be it rapturous like the silent flowers. 
And a long loveliness in springs afar — 
Yet will he never feel in that new land 
The immortality of mortal hours. 



[64] 



THE VALLEY AND THE SHADOW 



Think not, weak heart, the day is passing — 

Speak not of death ; 

Rest where the roof is crumbling, slate by slate. 

(O brain, O gray cells fitted so well together, so 

strongly. 
Keeping out the rain so long, the wind, 
Bearing a weight of troubles, unbroken, so long! 
O body, O house that cannot bear up now its roof!) 

Lie there — ^holding the useless hand so sadly in its 

mate; 
Lie there, and let the sunlight touch you. 
Let it dart its hot strong fingers into you — 
How it shines upon the ruin, 
This that was life, and is, and shall be ! 

Close, eyes; lie still, weak heart; 
Rest. 



[65] 



The Valley and the Shadow 

II 

My helpless, my beloved, my father! 

I hope this pain I feel, 

As you assure me dumbly with your poor hand, 

Is understanding; 

I hope these tears I won't let you see, 

Somehow reveal me to you — 

I know they reveal you to me. 

We have so much in common now — 

You so faint there in the bed and I so faint who sit 

beside you — - 
That Life and Death in us two hold hands. 

Beloved, your touch is mighty! 

What I have suffered I guess you must have suffered, 

And what I have hoped for you must have hoped for — 

for my sake; 
Certainly you have loved me. 

Ill 

To him I loved you came, gray Death, 
Not as I would have you come, tenderly. 



[66] 



The Valley and the Shadow 

Touching with gracious power the form, the face be- 
loved — 
No, no ! 

Yet now I look upon that quietness — 

That chiseled stillness wonderful and cold. 

That face like an old child's. 

Sweet, sweet, sweet — 

And wonder, Death. . .; 

You are so beautiful 

Who were so brutal. 



[67] 



THAT NIGHT I DANCED 

That night I danced, 

And he was still only a little while in the earth. 

People, if they had known. 

Would have said I was cold-hearted and did not care 

much, 
But all that day I had been seeing his face — 
The face shut in the buried coffin — 
And the pain had made a darkness of my heart. 
So to whirl and wend through the dancers seemed little 

sin — 
To give over to the music, little forgetfulness. 
For the dead, if they have the power to remember, 
Have the gift to understand. 



[68] 



THE DWELLERS 

Two women have I loved, 

And I am lonely. 

Sometimes in the midst of music I see their faces, 

Sometimes when night is still I hear their voices, 

Ever the veils of thought lie lightly over them. 

The tears and laughter of love remembered alike seem 

desired. 
The path of memory renews old passion. 
These women live in my being, 
Their kisses direct my destiny; 
The soft mouth of one sends up fire under the dead 

years 
And my heart smolders like a leaf-mound in autumn; 
And the cold mouth of one is a wise purity forever; 
But the lips of ghosts are shadows and their touch 

leaves weariness. 
My way is from the doorsteps of two women. 
Yet they come after me, they are with me, 
And I am lonely. 



[69] 



THE HOUSE 

When I think of that house where we lived, 
My heart is broken. 

Most people are hurt by a remembered house 
Because it had a sweet garden, 
Or stood among familiar trees, 
Or because its rooms held tender treasure — 
Rich hours and words and thoughts folded away 
in grace. 

My heart is broken with its emptiness. 

For we, together there, 

Lived and loved under a burden of pain 

And filled that house with loss; 

It was our home — 

Only, somehow, we threw away the joy, 

Scattered the peace. 



[70] 



POSSESSION 

Not for a day, 
Angel or demon gay, 
Feasted I on you 
And your beauty too; 
Not as the hours run 
Was your magic done, 
Lasting a moon, a sun. 

Since mortal me 

You fed with wizardry 

Of look and kiss, 

And burnt with bliss, 

To you befell 

The fate to serve me well 

Forever, in heaven or hell! 



[71] 



ADAM 

My wife Eve had merry eyes 

In the days of Paradise. 

How I danced with her! God stared 

At the antics we two dared, 

And the yellow lions glared. 

In the days of Paradise 
We than all things seemed more wise, 
Than all things more innocent; 
All things knew bewilderment, 
Only Eve and I content. 

Woman Eve's sweet eyes are sad 
Since God took the Garden we had. 
We dance not — ^we toil ; we say : 
"God, smile now on us to-day!" 
Child Cain alone looks our way. 

Then Eve's heart and mine grow cold 
With surmises not foretold 



[72] 



Adam 

In the days of Paradise — 
What if we were not then wise, 
If our innocence was lies? 
Or if God himself knew not 
All the merriment he begot? 



[73] 



THIS VIVID NIGHT 

This vivid springtide night — 
Death? 

To think that sometime one must go 

From all such loveliness — 

Lie in the ground, deaf to the rising sap ; 

That the limbs that leapt must be still 

While the earth and the air quicken, 

And the hour break nightingale-throated 

Yet one not hear it ; 

That one must lie then so silent 

While a friend or two once gone with arm in arm 

Pass laughing in the old way in the world above; 

That the heart and the lips must be so murmurless 

When the earthly spring night comes full blowing. 

Beautiful wind-white birch-tree that is life — 

Death that darkens it where the wind of delight goes by ! 



[74] 



HER BEAUTY 

I 

She is more lovely now. 

Sometimes she leans 

From out the days before I knew her. 

Often her eyes 

Hold the blue April where I never walked ; 

In moments when her blood leaps to mine, 

I hear those rivulets 

She sent in wild June 

Down to another sea. 

II 

She moves me like the autumn, 

Taking their way with her 

The years have brought me pain. 

Her loveliness is made of what she was 

When youth lay over her like golden trees 

Tossing upon a hill. 

The falling of those leaves 

Heaps little mounds of ruin in my heart. 

[75] 



THE TENT 

I saw a scarlet tent out in a meadow. 

Under the falling sun, the evening light, 

The place it stood in and the low wood beyond 

Lay in a gold-green sleep. 

The tree-tops made a line of withered faces 

With gray leaves grouped against the sky in dying 

patches — 
Faces that stared, old, ashen, mad and hopeless, 
At a bouquet of young clouds 
Swelling above them. 

That gaudy tent forbade me to join in the trees' 

sadness. 
It was an orient shape. 
And in the lonely quiet golden and green 
Stood forth a symbol of never-fading color and passion. 

I thought how good it is to take a cloth of that dye 
And spread it in the fields — 



[76] 



The Tent 

How brave, rude, flaunting! 
To go abroad, the earth's wild-hearted, 
Careless of tree-signs ruinous, 
Leaving the fading year to die, 

Finding the youth that lies in autumn for them that 
wander ! 



[77] 



ON MAGIC 

When on winding country roads, 
With crickets and hoptoads 
Making little odes 
And dancing sarabands 
To the moon, the moon of faery, 
Golden bubble blown and airy 
Resting lightly on the lands. 
Though I walked in country luck 
I thought not of meeting Puck 
Or the shadow of Friar Tuck. 
But I now recall the way 
Of those little insects gay. 
And the little hoptoads' play. 
In the sweet moon-dappled road. 
And, though round me roars the city 
That has neither dance nor ditty, 
I remember how I strode 
In fey moonlight, and I see 
Little know we when we be 
In Sherwood or Arcady! 



[78] 



THE VASE 

Still as Buddha and sleek as sin, 

Putting a spell on the temple place, 

The dragon vase in the temple niche 

Stands up straight like a little blue witch — 

Throat and breast and witch's shin 

All sheathed in 

And wound as low as the sole of the shoe 

By a web of deepening chill blue dew. 

With dragon relics from hem to chin 

Snarled in the blue — 

A witch who has snared the dragons' powers, 

Serpentine and winged and rare 

From flights in azure air. 

With the hues of her dress and her loveliness. 

And wrought their shapes in hair-like flowers. 

In tongued and tendriled whirling things 

With silver eyes and golden wings — 

To cast a spell on the temple men, 

When the bell in the temple rings. 

[79] 



The Vase 

Straight as Buddha and stiff as sin, 

Putting a spell on the temple place, 

A witch in a snakey peacock's skin, 

The blue vase stands in the temple niche, 

Seeming to hide a nun-like face; 

In the shadows the temple men. 

Gliding from soft, brown toe to toe. 

Heap the incense burning low; 

And the parts of dragons in her dress 

Uncurl their hairiness 

Over her sleek blue chilly dress. 

And their eyes awake and sleep again, 

As the sweet ash burns to a glow. 

Child of a dream and a cunning hand 
Creating beauty in some old land, 
A demon touched her in the womb 
With a charm or a doom. 
And, though her form was a loveliness, 
Her birth brought fear to the room; 
For a lovely child may grow up wild 
And become a witch with a hidden face, 

[80] 



The Vase 

Mocking a bell and a holy place 

And casting a spell on those who pace 

In the holy gloom — 

Like this gleaming vase in the temple niche. 

Blue and baleful like a witch. 



[81] 



THE TREE 
For F. C. B. 

It was a little forest tree, 
A hairless and a wizened tree, 
The most pathetic little tree 
To have for Christmas-time ; 
And we must joke about our tree 
And say it scarce could be a tree. 
Or, certain, one not meant to be 
All trimmed at Christmas-time! 
We propped it up within its stand — 
We laughed to see its three-feet stand 
All waggly, all forlorn, 
As bony, urchin-like a tree 
As ever was earth-born. 
But with brave hearts we set it right 
And tied it at its utmost height. 
Strung it round with tinsel fur. 
Twinkling balls and bulbs for light. 



[82] 



The Tree 

And hung three Stars of Bethlehem 
Each with a center like a gem. 

The warmth unfurled it from the top 
And a sudden greenness seemed to drop- 
A smell as the woods were nigh — 
That poor and ragged wisp of tree 
Grew fair before the eye. 

And so we kissed and so we said, 
"The poor and lonely we have fed, 
It no more seems to cry. 
It has been dressed against the cold. 
It wears our jewels and our gold. 
Bless it, it will not die !" 

Then we made all dark the room. 

And stood before our little tree, 

And turned the switch that made it bloom. 

And we were as the wise who saw. 
Come suddenly upon its law, 
The manger where the young Love lay 
Mysterious in the golden hay. 

[83] 



THE HOLIDAY 

When I was in the country that sweet time the years 

have taken 
I heard the cattle in the wood belly and a bird waken, 
I heard in the sweet fresh grayness water on stone, 
I heard the brook, eternal, alone, 
I heard the trees shaking off birds to the air, 
I heard the flying birds and the flittering song there, 
I heard the world in the dew that wnfolds and flies, 
I heard the daisy and the rose rise. 
The laurel is piled like pinkish white stones in the place; 

I am returning, 
I shall hear the hidden whip-poor-will and stand at his 

yearning. 
The cattle bell, the bird, the brook, the flower, these I 

shall hear. 
The wildness of earth is sure year after year after year, 

I 

Where is the gray city 

That has trodden me many years 

With its tumult? 



[84] 



The Holiday 

I cannot seem to see it. 

Only the earth is here, 

A great company of meadows 

Like armies asleep, 

Ramparts of hills 

Curved perpetually still. 

Where is that city — 

Sky, have you gathered it? 

To the last stone and girder and clamor 

Strewn it through your bright spaces 

Like soundless azure dust.? 

II 

To each one some Hesperides — 

A kind hour of rest, 
A golden sight of golden trees 

In some place one calls West, 
Whose magic apples still renew 

Earth, by the loved one's breast. 

A windless hour for weary bone. , , 

Stay with me, hill by hill. 
And brook that sets to wearing sto^e 

[86] 



The Holiday 

While a cricket's still, 
And trystful eyes, gaze peace at me 
While I gaze back my fill. 

Ill 

Fox-eyes beside the road, 

Dew upon the air. 
Trees so delicate and black, 

Fields so grayly fair — 
Trees with fretted stars 

In their lacy hair — 
The road alone in the night, 

And the night at prayer. 

IV 

I bring moss in my streaming Hands 

To you. 

Stones that I wear away, 

I hide you with lovely moss 

From my ceaseless touch 

And wound no longer 

Your mute wet faces. 



[86] 



The Holiday 

V 

A BiECH IN A Pine Forest 

White body, white body, 
I call you Miriam. 

From the bondage of seed, 
Between walls of the earth 
You have come with the host — 
The dark and shaggy-haired 
Patriarchs around you 
Gathered and waiting. 

When the wind like the Voice 

Passes into your slimness, 

Rapturous 

Foot to throat 

You will dance for them. 

Singing and swaying 
You will reach up 
And take two stars 
And clash them 
Like cymbals! 



[87] 



The Holiday 

VI 

And so I pass 

From this old country-side, 
The meadows will sleep on, 

The hills abide, 
And this dark road I take 

From my very dear. 
Curve down under the stars 

For sad men here. 

VII 

There is a stream I know. 
That goes down and down, 

For me it will flow and flow 
Behind that town. 

White with the moon it will go 

Over ridge on ridge 
Past house backs — a silver row 

Left-hand the bridge. 

O there on the bridge to stand! 
To behold Elaine 



[88] 



The Holiday 

Go down, hand folded on hand, 
From this world's pain ! 

Or watch where the still-dark tide 

By blackness and blot 
Comes to the moonlight to ride 

Over Shalott ! 

There is a stream I know 

White in the night. 
Old houses stand over its flow, 

Lovely and white. 

VIII 

Roots 

Ugly, hard, they go down, 
By the mold oppressed. 
Tightening, year by year, 
Upon earth's dark breast. 

Pliant the tree climbs up, 
Unleashed and fair. 
Shaking off year after year 
The hands of the air! 



[89] 



The Holiday 

IX 

Leaves 
Ah, the passion of the leaves — - 
This no mortal love conceives! 
Thousand thousands kissing light 
In the secrecy of night. 

Thousand thousands kissing low 
As the little dark winds go, 
Fields without all still and shorn 
Where the coons stay in the corn. 

The young farmer safe in house, 
Sleeps beside his cozy spouse — 
Nothing of his dreaming weaves 
That love-loveliness of leaves. 

L'Envoi 
It isn't nice to come back to town 

From a place where one's been finding 
Sweet roads that run up and brooks that run down, 

It isn't nice to come back to town — 
For an old street-organ is grinding. 

[90] 



The Holiday 

And an old wife sits in the gutter and weeps 
While her husband's unwinding 

The jadish music the organ keeps, 
And he's never minding 

The poor old woman who bows and weeps 
While the organ is grinding. 



[91] 



A SONG OF FULFILLMENT 

I have learned sweet music from friends, 
They have poured into mine their tunes 
And the runes of remembered ends 
Of songs trailed out in our Junes; 
I have thrilled to the deep with joy 
Of fellowship under the sun — 
The communion of man and boy 
With the laughter and light that are one. 

I have caught sweet sound from wild throats- 
All the beautiful, storming notes 
Rising and crying and yearning 
From poets' mouths, and burning ! 
I have sat with the star-eyed seers, 
Drinking deep of the dawning years, 
Drinking deep of the years and seeing 
The sunrise of glorious being 1 

I have knelt with the folk of earth. 
They have fed me sorrow and tears — 
Filled me out of the book of birth 

[92] 



A Song of Fulfillment 

With God and chaos and fears; 

I have had desire of the gleam 

Of which those things are the seeking — 

The folk in me lit the dream 

With their eyes that are fiery-speaking! 

I have sucked at life's great breast 

The milk that is honey and snow, 

Have burned in a golden rest 

And risen in want of the glow, 

And leapt toward the sun again 

And been pulled by the earth below. 

And had of the dust for gain. 

Now I am fashioned, I know — 

Myself am made into this : 

A music, a bliss, 

A yearning, a sorrow 

Learning out of the past of to-morrow 

A longing, a lust 

Burning back to the old earth-crust, 

A little mad flame that the sun 

Surrounds — I am one 

With the light and the dust ! 



[931 



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